_THE RECTOR OF VEILBYE_
These extracts from the diary of Erik Sorensen, District Judge,
followed by two written statements by the rector of Aalsö, give a
complete picture of the terrible events that took place in the parish
of Veilbye during Judge Sorensen's first year of office. Should anyone
be inclined to doubt the authenticity of these documents let him at
least have no doubt about the story, which is, alas! only too sadly
true. The memory of these events is still fresh in the district, and
the events themselves have been the direct cause of a change in the
method of criminal trials. A suspected murderer is now tried through
all the courts before his conviction can be determined. Readers versed
in the history of law will doubtless know by this during what epoch
the story is laid.
I
[_From the Diary of District Judge Erik Sörensen_.]
Now am I, unworthy one, by the grace of God made judge over this
district. May the Great Judge above give me wisdom and uprightness
that I may fulfill my difficult task in all humility! From the Lord
alone cometh judgment.
It is not good that man should live alone. Now that I am able to
support a wife I will look about me for a help-meet. I hear much good
said about the daughter of the Rector of Veilbye. Since her mother's
death she has been a wise and economical keeper of her father's house.
And as she and her brother the student are the only children, she will
inherit a tidy sum when the old man dies.
Morten Bruus of Ingvorstrup was here to-day and wanted to make me a
present of a fat calf. But I answered him in the words of Moses,
"Cursed be he who taketh gifts." He is of a very quarrelsome nature, a
sharp bargainer, and a boastful talker. I do not want to have any
dealings with him, except through my office as judge.
I have prayed to God for wisdom and I have consulted with my own
heart, and I believe that Mistress Mette Quist is the only woman with
whom I could live and die. But I will watch her for a time in secret.
Beauty is deceptive and charm is a dangerous thing. But I must say
that she is the most beautiful woman I have yet seen.
I think that Morten Bruus a very disagreeable person--I scarcely know
why myself. But whenever I see him something comes over me, something
that is like the memory of an evil dream. And yet it is so vague and
so faint, that I could not say whether I had really ever seen the man
in my dreams or not. It may be a sort of presentiment of evil; who
knows?
He was here again and offered me a pair of horses--beautiful
animals--at a ridiculously low price. It looked queer to me. I know
that he paid seventy thalers for them, and he wanted to let me have
them for the same price. They are at the least worth one hundred
thalers, if not more. Was it intended for a bribe? He may have another
lawsuit pending. I do not want his horses.
I paid a visit to the Rector of Veilbye to-day. He is a fine,
God-fearing man, but somewhat quick-tempered and dictatorial. And he
is close with his money, too, as I could see. Just as I arrived a
peasant was with him trying to be let off the payment of part of his
tithe. The man is surely a rogue, for the sum is not large. But the
rector talked to him as I wouldn't have talked to a dog, and the more
he talked the more violent he became.
Well, we all have our faults. The rector meant well in spite of his
violence, for later on he told his daughter to give the man a sandwich
and a good glass of beer. She is certainly a charming and sensible
girl. She greeted me in a modest and friendly manner, and my heart
beat so that I could scarcely say a word in reply. My head farm hand
served in the rectory three years. I will question him,--one often
hears a straight and true statement from servants.
A surprise! My farm hand Rasmus tells me that Morten Bruus came
a-wooing to the rectory at Veilbye some years back, but was sent away
with a refusal. The rector seemed to be pleased with him, for the man
is rich. But his daughter would not hear to it at all. Pastor Sören
may have tried hard to persuade her to consent at first. But when he
saw how much she disliked the man he let her do as she would. It was
not pride on her part, Rasmus said, for she is as simple and modest as
she is good and beautiful. And she knows that her own father is
peasant-born as well as Bruus.
Now I know what the Ingvorstrup horses were intended for. They were to
blind the judge and to lead him aside from the narrow path of
righteousness. The rich Morten Bruus covets poor Ole Andersen's peat
moor and pasture land. It would have been a good bargain for Morten
even at seventy thalers. But no indeed, my good fellow, you don't know
Erik Sörensen!
Rector Sören Quist of Veilbye came to see me this morning. He has a
new coachman, Niels Bruus, brother to the owner of Ingvorstrup. Niels
is lazy and impertinent. The rector wanted him arrested, but he had no
witnesses to back up his complaint. I advised him to get rid of the
man somehow, or else to get along with him the best he could until the
latter's time was up. The rector was somewhat hasty at first, but
later on he listened calmly and thanked me for my good advice. He is
inclined to be violent at times, but can always be brought to listen
to reason. We parted good friends.
I spent a charming day in Veilbye yesterday. The rector was not at
home, but Mistress Mette received me with great friendliness. She sat
by the door spinning when I arrived, and it seemed to me that she
blushed. It was hardly polite for me to wait so long before speaking.
When I sit in judgement I never lack for words, but in the presence of
this innocent maiden I am as stupid as the veriest simpleton of a
chicken thief. But I finally found my voice and the time passed
quickly until the rector's return. Then Mistress Mette left us and did
not return until she brought in our supper.
Just as she stepped through the doorway the rector was saying to me,
"Isn't it about time that you should think of entering into the holy
estate of matrimony?" (We had just been speaking of a recent very fine
wedding in the neighborhood.) Mistress Mette heard the words and
flushed a deep red. Her father laughed and said to her, "I can see, my
dear daughter, that you have been standing before the fire."
I shall take the good man's advice and will very soon try my fate with
her. For I think I may take the rector's words to be a secret hint
that he would not object to me as a son-in-law. And the daughter? Was
her blush a favorable sign?
Poor Ole Anderson keeps his peat moor and his pasture land, but rich
Morten Bruus is angry at me because of it. When he heard the decision
he closed his eyes and set his lips tight, and his face was as pale as
a whitewashed wall. But he controlled himself and as he went out he
called back to his adversary, "Wish you joy of the bargain Ole
Anderson. The peat bog won't beggar me, and the cattle at Ingvorstrup
have all the hay they can eat." I could hear his loud laughter outside
and the cracking of his whip. It is not easy to have to sit in
judgment. Every decision makes but one enemy the more.
Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. We celebrated our betrothal
in the Rectory of Veilbye. My future father-in-law spoke to the text,
"I gave my handmaid into thy bosom" (Genesis xvi, 5). His words
touched my heart. I had not believed that this serious and sometimes
brusque man could talk so sweetly. When the solemnity was over, I
received the first kiss from my sweet betrothed, and the assurance of
her great love for me.
At supper and later on we were very merry. Many of the dead mother's
kin were present. The rector's family were too far away. After supper
we danced until day-break and there was no expense spared in the food
and wine. My future father-in-law was the strongest man present, and
could easily drink all the others under the table. The wedding is to
take place in six weeks. God grant us rich blessings.
It is not good that my future father-in-law should have this Niels
Bruus in his service. He is a defiant fellow, a worthy brother of him
of Ingvorstrup. If it were I, he should have his wages and be turned
off, the sooner the better. But the good rector is stubborn and
insists that Niels shall serve out his time. The other day he gave the
fellow a box on the ear, at which Niels cried out that he would make
him pay for it. The rector told me of this himself, for no one else
had been present. I talked to Niels, but he would scarcely answer me.
I fear he has a stubborn and evil nature. My sweet betrothed also
entreats her father to send the fellow away, but the rector will not
listen to reason. I do not know what the old man will do when his
daughter leaves his home for mine. She saves him much worry and knows
how to make all things smooth and easy. She will be a sweet wife for
me.
As I thought, it turned out badly. But there is one good thing about
it, Niels has now run off of himself. The rector is greatly angered,
but I rejoice in secret that he is rid of that dangerous man. Bruus
will probably seek retaliation, but we have law and justice in the
land to order such matters.
This was the way of it: The rector had ordered Niels to dig up a bit
of soil in the garden. After a time when he went out himself to look
at the work, he found Niels leaning on his spade eating nuts. He had
not even begun to dig. The rector scolded him, but the fellow answered
that he had not taken service as a gardener. He received a good box on
the ear for that. At this he threw away his spade and swore valiantly
at his master. The old rector lost his temper entirely, seized the
spade and struck at the man several times. He should not have done
this, for a spade is a dangerous weapon, especially in the hands of a
man as strong as is the pastor in spite of his years. Niels fell to
the ground as if dead. But when the pastor bent over him in alarm, he
sprang up suddenly, jumped the hedge and ran away to the woods.
This is the story of the unfortunate affair as my father-in-law tells
it to me. My beloved Mette is much worried about it. She fears the man
may do harm to the cattle, or set fire to the house, or in some such
way take his revenge. But I tell her there is little fear of that.
Three weeks more and my beloved leaves her father's house for mine.
She has been here and has gone over the house and the farm. She is
much pleased with everything and praises our orderliness. She is an
angel, and all who know her say that I am indeed a fortunate man. To
God be the praise!
Strange, where that fellow Niels went to! Could he have left the
country altogether? It is an unpleasant affair in any case, and there
are murmurings and secret gossip among the peasants. The talk has
doubtless started in Ingvorstrup. It would not be well to have the
rector hear it. He had better have taken my advice, but it is not my
province to school a servant of God, and a man so much older than I.
The idle gossip may blow over ere long. I will go to Veilbye to-morrow
and find out if he has heard anything.
The bracelet the goldsmith has made for me is very beautiful. I am
sure it will please my sweet Mette.
My honored father-in-law is much distressed and down-hearted.
Malicious tongues have repeated to him the stupid gossip that is going
about in the district. Morten Bruus is reported to have said that "he
would force the rector to bring back his brother, if he had to dig him
out of the earth." The fellow may be in hiding somewhere, possibly at
Ingvorstrup. He has certainly disappeared completely, and no one seems
to know where he is. My poor betrothed is much grieved and worried.
She is alarmed by bad dreams and by presentiments of evil to come.
God have mercy on us all! I am so overcome by shock and horror that I
can scarcely hold the pen. It has all come in one terrible moment,
like a clap of thunder. I take no account of time, night and morning
are the same to me and the day is but a sudden flash of lightning
destroying the proud castle of my hopes and desires. A venerable man
of God--the father of my betrothed--is in prison! And as a suspected
murderer! There is still hope that he may be innocent. But this hope
is but as a straw to a drowning man. A terrible suspicion rests upon
him----And I, unhappy man that I am, must be his judge. And his
daughter is my betrothed bride! May the Saviour have pity on us!
It was yesterday that this horrible thing came. About half an hour
before sunrise Morten Bruus came to my house and had with him the
cotter Jens Larsen of Veilbye, and the widow and daughter of the
shepherd of that parish. Morten Bruus said to me that he had the
Rector of Veilbye under suspicion of having killed his brother Niels.
I answered that I had heard some such talk but had regarded it as idle
and malicious gossip, for the rector himself had assured me that the
fellow had run away. "If that was so," said Morten, "if Niels had
really intended to run away, he would surely at first come to me to
tell me of it. But it is not so, as these good people can prove to
you, and I demand that you shall hear them as an officer of the law."
"Think well of what you are doing," I said. "Think it over well,
Morten Bruus, and you, my good people. You are bringing a terrible
accusation against a respected and unspotted priest and man of God. If
you can prove nothing, as I strongly suspect, your accusations may
cost you dear."
"Priest or no priest," cried Bruus, "it is written, 'thou shalt not
kill!' And also is it written, that the authorities bear the sword of
justice for all men. We have law and order in the land, and the
murderer shall not escape his punishment, even if he have the district
judge for a son-in-law."
I pretended not to notice his thrust and began, "It shall be as you
say. Kirsten Mads' daughter, what is it that you know of this matter
in which Morten Bruus accuses your rector? Tell the truth, and the
truth only, as you would tell it before the judgment seat of the
Almighty. The law will demand from you that you shall later repeat
your testimony under oath."
The woman told the following story: The day on which Niels Bruus was
said to have run away from the rectory, she and her daughter were
passing along the road near the rectory garden a little after the noon
hour. She heard some one calling and saw that it was Niels Bruus
looking out through the garden hedge. He asked the daughter if she did
not want some nuts and told the women that the rector had ordered him
to dig in the garden, but that he did not take the command very
seriously and would much rather eat nuts. At that moment they heard a
door open in the house and Niels said, "Now I'm in for a scolding." He
dropped back behind the hedge and the women heard a quarrel in the
garden. They could hear the words distinctly but they could see
nothing, as the hedge was too high. They heard the rector cry, "I'll
punish you, you dog. I'll strike you dead at my feet!" Then they heard
several sounding slaps, and they heard Niels curse back at the rector
and call him evil names. The rector did not answer this, but the women
heard two dull blows and saw the head of a spade and part of the
handle rise and fall twice over the hedge. Then it was very quiet in
the garden, and the widow and her daughter were frightened and hurried
on to their cattle in the field. The daughter gave the same testimony,
word for word. I asked them if they had not seen Niels Bruus coming
out of the garden. But they said they had not, although they had
turned back several times to look.
This accorded perfectly with what the rector had told me. It was not
strange that the women had not seen the man run out of the garden, for
he had gone toward the wood which is on the opposite side of the
garden from the highroad. I told Morten Bruus that this testimony was
no proof of the supposed murder, especially as the rector himself had
narrated the entire occurrence to me exactly as the women had
described it. But he smiled bitterly and asked me to examine the third
witness, which I proceeded to do.
Jens Larsen testified that he was returning late one evening from
Tolstrup (as he remembered, it was not the evening of Niels Bruus's
disappearance, but the evening of the following day), and was passing
the rectory garden on the easterly side by the usual footpath. From
the garden he heard a noise as of some one digging in the earth. He
was frightened at first for it was very late, but the moon shone
brightly and he thought he would see who it was that was at work in
the garden at that hour. He put off his wooden shoes and pushed aside
the twigs of the hedge until he had made a peep hole. In the garden he
saw the rector in his usual house coat, a white woolen nightcap on his
head. He was busily smoothing down the earth with the flat of his
spade. There was nothing else to be seen. Just then the rector had
started and partly turned toward the hedge, and the witness, fearing
he might be discovered, slipped down and ran home hastily.
Although I was rather surprised that the rector should be working in
his garden at so late an hour, I still saw nothing in this statement
that could arouse suspicion of murder. I gave the complainant a solemn
warning and advised him not only to let fall his accusation, but to
put an end to the talk in the parish. He replied, "Not until I see
what it is that the rector buried in his garden."
"That will be too late," I said. "You are playing a dangerous game.
Dangerous to your own honor and welfare."
"I owe it to my brother," he replied, "and I demand that the
authorities shall not refuse me assistance."
My office compelled me to accede to his demands. Accompanied by the
accuser and his witnesses I took my way to Veilbye. My heart was very
heavy, not so much because of any fear that we might find the missing
man buried in the garden, but because of the surprise and distress I
must cause the rector and my beloved. As we went on our way I thought
over how severely the law would allow me to punish the calumniators.
But alas, Merciful Heavens! What a terrible discovery was in store for
me!
I had wished to have a moment alone with the rector to prepare him for
what was coming. But as I drove through the gate Morten Bruus spurred
his horse past me and galloped up to the very door of the house just
as the rector opened it. Bruus cried out in his very face, "People say
that you have killed my brother and buried him in your garden. I am
come with the district judge to seek for him."
The poor rector was so shocked and astounded that he could not find a
word to answer. I sprang from my wagon and addressed him: "You have
now heard the accusation. I am forced by my office to fulfill this
man's demands. But your own honor demands that the truth shall be
known and the mouth of slander silenced."
"It is hard enough," began the rector finally, "for a man in my
position to have to clear himself from such a suspicion. But come with
me. My garden and my entire house are open to you."
We went through the house to the garden. On the way we met my
betrothed, who was startled at seeing Bruus. I managed to whisper
hastily to her, "Do not be alarmed, dear heart. Your enemies are going
to their own destruction." Morten Bruus led the way to the eastern
side of the garden near the hedge. We others followed with the
rector's farm hands, whom he himself had ordered to join us with
spades.
The accuser stood and looked about him until we approached. Then he
pointed to one spot. "This looks as if the earth had been disturbed
lately. Let us begin here."
"Go to work at once," commanded the rector angrily.
The men set to work, but they were not eager enough to suit Bruus, who
seized a spade himself to fire them on. A few strokes only sufficed to
show that the firm earth of this particular spot had not been touched
for many years. We all rejoiced--except Bruus--and the rector was very
happy. He triumphed openly over his accuser, and laughed at him,
"Can't you find anything, you libeler?"
Bruus did not answer. He pondered for a few moments, then called out,
"Jens Larsen, where was it you saw the rector digging?"
Jens Larsen had been standing to one side with his hands folded,
watching the work. At Bruus's words he aroused himself as if from a
dream, looked around him and pointed to a corner of the garden several
yards from where we stood. "I think it was over there."
"What's that, Jens!" cried the rector angrily. "When did I dig here?"
Paying no heed to his, Morten Bruus called the men to the corner in
question. The earth here was covered by some withered cabbage stalks,
broken twigs, and other brush which he pushed aside hurriedly. The
work began anew.
I stood by the rector talking calmly with him about the punishment we
could mete out to the dastardly accuser, when one of the men suddenly
cried out with an oath. We looked toward them; there lay a hat half
buried in the loose earth. "We have found him," cried Bruus. "That is
Niels's hat; I would know it anywhere."
My blood seemed turned to ice. All my hopes dashed to the ground.
"Dig! Dig!" cried the bloodthirsty accuser, working himself with all
his might. I looked at the rector. He was ghastly pale, staring with
wide-open eyes at the horrible spot.
Another shot! A hand was stretched up through the earth as if to greet
the workers. "See there!" screamed Bruus. "He is holding out his hand
to me. Wait a little, Brother Niels! You will soon be avenged!"
The entire corpse was soon uncovered. It was the missing man. His face
was not recognizable, as decomposition had begun, and the nose was
broken and laid flat by a blow. But all the garments, even to the
shirt with his name woven into it, were known to those who stood
there. In one ear was a leaden ring, which, as we all knew, Niels
Bruus had worn for many years.
"Now, priest," cried Morten Bruus, "come and lay your hand on this
dead man if you dare to!"
"Almighty God!" sighed the rector, looking up to heaven, "Thou art my
witness that I am innocent. I struck him, that I confess, and I am
bitterly sorry for it. But he ran away. God Almighty alone knows who
buried him here."
"Jens Larsen knows also," cried Bruus, "and I may find more witnesses.
Judge! You will come with me to examine his servants. But first of all
I demand that you shall arrest this wolf in sheep's clothing."
Merciful God, how could I doubt any longer? The truth was clear to all
of us. But I was ready to sink into the earth in my shock and horror.
I was about to say to the rector that he must prepare to follow me,
when he himself spoke to me, pale and trembling like an aspen leaf.
"Appearances are against me," he said, "but this is the work of the
devil and his angels. There is One above who will bring my innocence
to light. Come, judge, I will await my fate in fetters. Comfort my
daughter. Remember that she is your betrothed bride."
He had scarcely uttered the words when I heard a scream and a fall
behind us. It was my beloved who lay unconscious on the ground. I
thought at first that she was dead, and God knows I wished that I
could lie there dead beside her. I raised her in my arms, but her
father took her from me and carried her into the house. I was called
to examine the wound on the dead man's head. The cut was not deep, but
it had evidently fractured the skull, and had plainly been made by a
blow from a spade or some similar blunt instrument.
Then we all entered the house. My beloved had revived again. She fell
on my neck and implored me, in the name of God, to help her father in
his terrible need. She begged me by the memory of our mutual love to
let her follow him to prison, to which I consented. I myself
accompanied him to Grenaa, but with a mournful heart. None of us spoke
a word on the sad journey. I parted from them in deep distress. The
corpse was laid in a coffin and will be buried decently to-morrow in
Veilbye churchyard.
To-morrow I must give a formal hearing to the witnesses. God be
merciful to me, unfortunate man!
Would that I had never obtained this position for which I--fool that I
am--strove so hard.
As the venerable man of God was brought before me, fettered hand and
foot, I felt as Pilate must have felt as they brought Christ before
him. It was to me as if my beloved--God grant her comfort, she lies
ill in Grenaa--had whispered to me, "Do nothing against that good
man!"
Oh, if he only were innocent, but I see no hope!
The three first witnesses repeated their testimony under oath, word
for word. Then came statements by the rector's two farm hands and the
dairy maid. The men had been in the kitchen on the fatal day, and as
the windows were open they had heard the quarrel between the rector
and Niels. As the widow had stated, these men had also heard the
rector say, "I will strike you dead at my feet!" They further
testified that the rector was very quick-tempered, and that when
angered he did not hesitate to strike out with whatever came into his
hand. He had struck a former hand once with a heavy maul.
The girl testified that on the night Jens Larsen claimed to have seen
the rector in the garden, she had lain awake and heard the creaking of
the garden door. When she looked out of the window she had seen the
rector in his dressing gown and nightcap go into the garden. She could
not see what he was doing there. But she heard the door creak again
about an hour later.
When the witnesses had been heard, I asked the unfortunate man whether
he would make a confession, or else, if he had anything to say in his
own defense. He crossed his hands over his breast and said, "So help
me God, I will tell the truth. I have nothing more to say than what I
have said already. I struck the dead man with my spade. He fell down,
but jumped up in a moment and ran away from the garden out into the
woods. What may have happened to him there, or how he came to be
buried in my garden, this I do not know. When Jens Larsen and my
servant testify that they saw me at night in the garden, either they
are lying, or Satan has blinded them. I can see this--unhappy man that
I am--that I have no one to turn to for help here on earth. Will He
who is in heaven be silent also, then must I bow to His inscrutable
will." He bowed his head with a deep sigh.
Some of those present began to weep, and a murmur arose that he might
possibly be innocent. But this was only the effect of the momentary
sympathy called out by his attitude. My own heart indeed spoke for
him. But the judge's heart may not dare to dictate to his brain or to
his conscience. My conviction forced me to declare that the rector had
killed Niels Bruus, but certainly without any premeditation or
intention to do so. It is true that Niels Bruus had often been heard
to declare that he would "get even with the rector when the latter
least expected it." But it is not known that he had fulfilled his
threat in any way. Every man clings to life and honor as long as he
can. Therefore the rector persists in his denial. My poor, dear Mette!
She is lost to me for this life at least, just as I had learned to
love her so dearly.
I have had a hard fight to fight to-day. As I sat alone, pondering
over this terrible affair in which it is my sad lot to have to give
judgment, the door opened and the rector's daughter--I may no longer
call her my betrothed--rushed in and threw herself at my feet. I
raised her up, clasped her in my arms and we wept together in silence.
I was first to control myself. "I know what you would say, dear heart.
You want me to save your father. Alas, God help us poor mortals, I
cannot do it! Tell me, dearest one, tell me truly, do you yourself
believe your father to be innocent?"
She crossed her hands on her heart and sobbed, "I do not know!" Then
she burst into tears again. "But he did not bury him in the garden,"
she continued after a few moments. "The man may have died in the wood
from the blow. That may have happened----"
"But, dearest heart," I said, "Jen Larsen and the girl saw your father
in the garden that night."
She shook her head slowly and answered, "The evil one blinded their
eyes." She wept bitterly again.
"Tell me, beloved," she began again, after a while, "tell me frankly
this much. If God sends us no further enlightenment in this
unfortunate affair, what sentence must you give?"
She gazed anxiously at me, her lips trembling.
"If I did not believe," I began slowly, "that anyone else in my place
would be more severe than I, then I would gladly give up my position
at once and refuse to speak the verdict. But I dare not conceal from
you that the mildest sentence that God, our king, and our laws demand
is, a life for a life."
She sank to her knees, then sprang up again, fell back several steps
as if afraid of me, and cried out: "Would you murder my father? Would
you murder your betrothed bride? See here! See this!" She came nearer
and held up her hand with my ring on it before my eyes. "Do you see
this betrothal ring? What was it my father said when you put this ring
upon my finger? 'I have given my maid unto thy bosom!' But you, you
thrust the steel deep into my bosom!"
Alas, every one of her words cut deep into my own heart. "Dearest
love," I cried, "do not speak so. You thrust burning irons into my
heart. What would you have me do? Acquit him, when the laws of God and
man condemn?"
She was silent, sobbing desperately.
"One thing I can do," I continued. "If it be wrong may God forgive me.
If the trial goes on to an end his life is forfeited, there is no hope
except in flight. If you can arrange an escape I will close my eyes. I
will not see or hear anything. As soon as your father was imprisoned,
I wrote to your brother in Copenhagen. He can arrive any moment now.
Talk to him, make friends with the jailer. If you lack money, all I
have is yours."
When I had finished her face flushed with joy, and she threw her arms
about my neck. "God bless you for these words. Were my brother but
here, he will know what to do. But where shall we go?" her tone
changed suddenly and her arms dropped. "Even should we find a refuge
in a foreign country I could never see you again!" Her tone was so sad
that my heart was near to breaking.
"Beloved," I exclaimed, "I will find you wherever you may hide
yourself! Should our money not be sufficient to support us I can work
for us all. I have learned to use the ax and the hoe."
She rejoiced again and kissed me many times. We prayed to God to bless
our undertaking and parted with glad hearts. I also hoped for the
best. Doubts assail me, but God will find for us some light in this
darkness.
Two more new witnesses. They bring nothing good, I fear, for Bruus
announced them with an expression I did not like. He has a heart of
stone, which can feel nothing but malice and bitterness. I give them a
hearing to-morrow. I feel as if they had come to bear witness against
me myself. May God strengthen my heart.
All is over. He has confessed.
The court was in session and the prisoner had been brought in to hear
the testimony of the new witnesses. These men stated as follows: On
the night in question they were walking along the path that led
between the woods and the rectory garden. A man with a large sack on
his back came out of the woods and walked ahead of them toward the
garden. They could not see his face, but in the bright moonlight his
figure was clearly visible, and they could see that he wore a loose
green garment, like a dressing gown, and a white nightcap. The man
disappeared through an opening in the rectory garden fence.
Scarcely had the first witness ended his statement when the rector
turned ghastly pale, and gasped, in a voice that could scarcely be
heard, "I am ill." They gave him a chair.
Bruus turned to his neighbor and exclaimed audibly, "That helped the
rector's memory."
The prisoner did not hear the words, but motioned to me and said,
"Lead me back to my prison. I will talk to you there." They did as he
demanded.
We set out at once for Grenaa. The rector was in the wagon with the
jailer and the gendarme, and I rode beside them.
When the door of the cell was opened my beloved was making up her
father's bed, and over a chair by the bedside hung the fatal green
dressing gown. My dear betrothed greeted me with a cry of joy, as she
believed that I was come to set her father free. She hung about the
old man's neck, kissing away the tears that rolled unhindered down his
cheeks. I had not the heart to undeceive her, and I sent her out into
the town to buy some things for us.
"Sit down, dear friend," said the rector, when we were alone. He
seated himself on the bed, staring at the ground with eyes that did
not see. Finally he turned toward me where I sat trembling, as if it
were my own sentence I was to hear, as in a manner it was. "I am a
great sinner," he sighed, "God only knows how great. His punishment
crushes me here that I may enter into His mercy hereafter."
He grew gradually calmer and began:
"Since my childhood I have been hot-tempered and violent. I could
never endure contradiction, and was always ready to give a blow. But I
have seldom let the sun go down upon my wrath, and I have never borne
hatred toward any man. As a half-grown boy I killed our good, kind
watchdog in one of my fits of rage for some trifling offense, and I
have never ceased to regret it. Later, as a student in Leipzig, I let
myself be carried away sufficiently to wound seriously my adversary in
one of our fencing bouts. A merciful fate alone saved me from becoming
a murderer then. It is for these earlier sins that I am now being
punished, but the punishment falls doubly hard, now that I am an old
man, a priest, a servant of the Lord of Peace, and a father! Ah, that
is the deepest wound!" He sprang up and wrung his hands in deep
despair. I would have said something to comfort him, but I could find
no words for such sorrow.
When he had controlled himself somewhat he sat down again and
continued: "To you, once my friend and now my judge, I will confess
this crime, which it seems beyond a doubt that I have committed,
although I am not conscious cf having done so." (I was startled at
this, as I had expected a remorseful confession.) "Listen well to what
I shall now tell you. That I struck the unfortunate man with the
spade, that he fell down and then ran away, this is all that I know
with full consciousness.... What followed then? Four witnesses have
seen that I fetched the body and buried it in my garden--and now at
last I am forced to believe that it must be true. These are my reasons
for the belief. Three or four times in my life I have walked in my
sleep. The last time--it may have been nine or ten years ago--I was to
have held a funeral service on the following day, over the body of a
man who had died a sudden and terrible death. I could not find a
suitable text, until suddenly there came to me the words of an old
Greek philosopher, 'Call no man fortunate until his death.' It was in
my mind that the same idea was expressed in different words in the
Holy Scriptures. I sought and sought, but could not find it. At last I
went to bed much fatigued, and slept soundly. Next morning, when I sat
down at my desk, to my great astonishment I saw there a piece of
paper, on which was written, 'Call no man happy until his end hath
come' (Sirach xi. 34), and following it was a funeral sermon, short,
but as good in construction as any I have ever written. And all this
was in my own handwriting. It was quite out of the question that
anyone could have entered the room during the night, as I had locked
it myself, and it had not been opened until I entered next day. I knew
what had happened, as I could remember one or two such occurrences in
my life before.
"Therefore, dear friend, when the last witnesses gave their testimony
to-day, I suddenly remembered my sleep-walking exploits, and I also
remembered, what had slipped my mind before, that on the morning after
the night the body was buried I had found my dressing gown in the hall
outside of my bedroom. This had surprised me, as I always hung it over
a chair near my bed. The unfortunate victim of my violence must have
died in the woods from his wound, and in my dream consciousness I must
have seen this and gone to fetch the body. It must be so. I know no
other explanation. God have mercy on my sinful soul." He was silent
again, covering his face with his hands and weeping bitterly.
I was stuck dumb with astonishment and uncertainty. I had always
suspected that the victim had died on the spot where he was buried,
although I could not quite understand how the rector had managed to
bury the body by day without being seen. But I thought that he might
have covered it lightly with earth and twigs and finished his work at
night. He was a man of sufficient strength of mind to have done this.
When the latest witnesses were telling their story, I noted the
possible contradiction, and hoped it might prove a loophole of escape.
But, alas, it was all only too true, and the guilt of the rector
proven beyond a doubt. It was not at all impossible for a man to do
such things in his sleep. Just as it was quite possible that a man
with a fractured skull could run some distance before he fell to die.
The rector's story bore the stamp of truth, although the doubt _will_
come that he desired thus to save a shred of honor for his name.
The prisoner walked up and down the room several times, then stopping
before me he said gravely: "You have now heard my confession, here in
my prison walls. It is your mouth that must speak my sentence. But
what says your heart?"
I could scarcely utter the words, "My heart suffers beyond expression.
I would willingly see it break if I could but save you from a shameful
death." (I dared not mention to him my last hope of escape in flight.)
"That is impossible," he answered. "My life is forfeited. My death is
just, and shall serve as a warning to others. But promise me that you
will not desert my poor daughter. I had thought to lay her in your
arms"--tears choked his voice--"but, alas, that fond hope is vanished.
You cannot marry the daughter of a sentenced murderer. But promise me
that you will watch over her as her second father." In deep sorrow and
in tears I held his hand in mine. "Have you any news from my son?" he
began again. "I hope it will be possible to keep him in ignorance of
this terrible affair until--until it is all over. I could not bear to
see him now. And now, dear friend, let us part, not to meet again
except in the hall of justice. Grant me of your friendship one last
service, let it end soon. I long for death. Go now, my kind,
sympathetic judge. Send for me to-morrow to speak my sentence, and
send to-day for my brother in God, the pastor in Aalsö. He shall
prepare me for death. God be with you."
He gave me his hand with his eyes averted. I staggered from the
prison, hardly conscious of what I was doing. I would have ridden home
without seeing his daughter had she not met me by the prison door. She
must have seen the truth in my face, for she paled and caught at my
arm. She gazed at me with her soul in her eyes, but could not speak.
"Flee! Save your father in flight!" was all I could say.